The Nice and the Nasty
by PokeLocked13
Summary: Molly's done with all the nasty things he says to her. He wishes she'd only remember the nice.


The consulting detective massaged his temples, painfully aware of the day. Fortunately, this year, there hadn't been a party.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson called gently. "Would you like some coffee, dear?"

The black-haired genius sighed. "No, thank you," He replied quietly. A hand settled on his shoulder. He glanced at her soft smiling face.

"You should go see her," Mrs. Hudson urged, squeezing his shoulder. Sherlock scoffed. "I'm sure I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're quite the poor excuse for a detective then, aren't you." Sherlock rolled his eyes, tapping his fingers on the table. Mrs. Hudson recognized it as a nervous tic, as opposed to a thoughtful one.

"What on earth are you waiting for?"

The detective gave this question considerable thought, and rose to his feet. He tossed on his coat and pulled a scarf around his neck. He caught Mrs. Hudson's grin as he opened the door. He smiled. "You're awful."

"I know."

...

Sherlock waltzed into the morgue, externally seeming calm, but on the inside he was screaming 'NO. NO. BAD IDEA.' He examined the room, finding no sign of Molly. He reasoned that she had already left, since the room was tidy and clean, but then wiped the idea from his head, because it was absolutely ridiculous. Of course, the door hadn't been locked yet. And it made his stomach rise to his throat. And he did not like that one bit. He especially disliked the fact that he was so distracted and addle-brained that he overlooked something so basically simple.

"Molly?" He called out, voice shaking slightly. It annoyed him that he was so uncomfortable seeing someone he'd known for a long time now.

Molly scurried into the room. "Oh, Sherlock! What can I do for you," She asked with a grin.

"I...didn't come for anything," Sherlock responded quietly. He looked her over, and she was dressed much simpler this year. She wore a knee-length strapless blue dress that left things to the imagination, a black sash around her waist and tied in a bow behind her back. She wore simple black flats and her makeup was basic. Nothing special, really.

Molly frowned. "Huh. Well, why did you come over at all, then?"

"I simply wished to bid you a Merry Christmas," Sherlock replied, something in his expression darkening, "although I'm not sure why I bothered; it's almost certain you'll hear it a thousand times from your date."

Molly's jaw clenched and her fists tightened. "Oh, I see," she growled. The sharp tone startled Sherlock, and he stared at her in awe. "So, would you like it give a verdict on my outfit while you're here?" She asked with a twirl. "Please, _do_ tell how my dress indicates how desperate I am. And while you're at it, you can add a jab about my lips and my boobs." Molly huffed and stormed out.

For a moment, Sherlock just stood there, stunned. He woke from his shock very quickly, and dashed out the door. "Molly, wait! Wait!"

The girl in question paused and turned around slowly. "What for," she hissed, swiping away a tear she thought he wouldn't see(But he did). "You've already said what needs to be said."

"No," Sherlock said with a struggle, "no, I haven't. Just-"

"Just _stop_. I'm sick of all the cruel jabs you always gave me before the fall." The tears were falling fast now. "And you may have apologized. Told me I 'counted'. But that doesn't take away all the things that you've said. Even after the fall. The horrible, horrible things. I never _really_ counted. Not the way I want to."

By the end of the speech, her head was hanging in despair. Sherlock stepped forward, placing his hands gently on her arms. Molly tensed. "You're wrong, Molly. You really do count. You matter to me." He lifted her gaze from the floor so he could look into her eyes. "Didn't you hear anything I said to you before? _You_ are the most important person to me. More than Lestrade, or Mrs. Hudson, and even John. It was ridiculous of Moriarty not to notice. It's good that he did though; I cannot imagine losing you." Sherlock tucked a strand of hair behind Molly's ear. "I realized something that I was not even sure was possible. I never thought I was capable of it. And I still may not be. But, Molly Hooper, I love you," He said with a smile, and Molly brought a hand her mouth, eyes widening. "You're the most real person I know. And perhaps I can't take away all of the insensitive things I've said. But I can only hope you'll forgive me...will you?"

Molly let out a sob and cried, "Yes, Sherlock. Yes, I will."

Sherlock enveloped her in his embrace. He held her until all of her tears had stopped, rubbing small circles on her back to soothe her. "Shh," He whispered gently. "It's okay, it's okay."

After some time, Molly pulled away, looking up at Sherlock, evidence of her tears very much present on her face. She wiped at the mascara. She smiled up at him, and said, "I love you too, Sherlock Holmes. I always have."

Sherlock leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers. She returned the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck.

A moment later, they broke apart. Sherlock asked, "Would you like to come to 221B with me?" He was smiling like he had never smiled before.

Molly's phone buzzed and she took it out of her bag, staring at the offending text. She promptly turned her phone off and replied, "I'd love to."


End file.
